


Even Through the Fire

by frantic65



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frantic65/pseuds/frantic65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Justin took a stand instead of letting Brian kick him out of the loft during the cancer arc?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Through the Fire

Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall  
For a chance to be with you I’d gladly risk it all.  
Through the fire, through whatever, come what may  
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way.  
Right down to the wire. Even through the fire.  
Through the Fire…by Chaka Khan

Brian's POV

I sit and wait, crushed cigarette crumbling further in my unforgiving grasp. As I wait, I listen…and start to panic again. “He knows…Jesus Christ…he knows.” The words chase each other around my brain in circles like a mantra, but unlike the seal of approval Zen Ben would offer for a positive, life affirming phrase like Emmett's “I am woman, hear me fucking roar”, I doubt the Professor would approve of my present state of mind at all.

A small part of me is relieved that he’s figured it out. Recent surgery is a tough secret to keep from someone I've accepted as my partner, especially one with as frequent intimate access to every part of my body as Justin has. And sex is one thing we’ve never done the breeder way; with lights out or eyes shut tight. We’ve fucked anyplace and anytime; with lips and tongues licking, flicking, and sucking every square inch of the other, eyes wide open, employing as many of our senses as possible. An angry incision and swollen sac would be impossible to hide from a blind man, let alone a clever lad like Justin.

I know my anger right now is irrational and should only be aimed at myself since I was the stupid shit that had decided to try to pass off having major surgery as a trip to Ibiza. I was fucking delusional to expect to bounce back from having a ball cut out like I was recovering from a weekend bender hopped up on coke and whiskey. Reality smacked me in the face when I woke up in the recovery room feeling like my surgery had been done by a sadistic fuck with a dull ice pick and a hammer. 

I was fucked without lube, but I had set myself upon the path of my own destruction, and fuck if I was going to back off now. I needed to know why the little shit had known about my cancer for days and had told fucking Michael instead of confronting me in his usual pit-bull manner. Maybe he had finally realized he was wasting his time, and his youth, on my pathetic ass, and would use this as his excuse to leave again. God knows I would have, if I were in his place. 

If I was honest, I’d known from the moment the doctor told me my diseased ball was doomed that there was no way I was gonna be able to stop him from finding out, but I figured I’d be just another anonymous fag hiding out on the beach in Ibiza by then, or maybe in the morgue, another John Doe who’d OD’d while sampling an alphabet’s worth of pharmacological pleasures.

I didn’t realize how difficult it would be until he told me he loved me and would be waiting for me when I got back. An easy promise to make to a healthy partner going away to tan his ass and get his cock sucked in homo-heaven. He'd had no idea that I'd be coming back damaged, disease prone, and impotent instead. What a fucking prize! 

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the ache in my bruised ball a constant reminder of my imperfection and illness; things I despised in others that were now part of my new reality.

I rose stiffly and limped over to the sofa, sweating and fatigued from trying to pretend everything was status quo at the office all day, when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed, and pass out in a stupor. Not an unheard of event for me, but it normally followed a night of excessive drinking and drugging at Babylon.

Now that Michael and Justin knew, I suppose it was time to clue in Theodore and Cynthia. I was scheduled to start radiation in a few days, and while I doubted I could feel worse than I did right after the surgery, it seemed that with the fucking black cloud hovering over my head just waiting to zap me with a jolt of bad luck lightning, I should prepare for the worse.

I carefully sit down, swinging my legs up slowly, cursing as my shifting weight temporarily crushes my abused remaining ball. I lay flat, letting my head hang off the end of the sofa, moaning like a pathetic loser, alternately anticipating and dreading Justin's return. It would be for the best to cut him out of my life like my diseased ball rather than having to watch him try to do the right thing by me and pretending he's not feeling trapped playing nursemaid to a sick fag.

There was no fucking way I was gonna let that happen. As soon as he got home, I'd make him leave again. 

Permanently.

Hopefully, I'd have time for a power nap first. 

 

Justin's POV

When I opened the door of the loft and saw him hanging off the edge of the sofa, a part of me died. He didn't hear me come in right away, so I just stood there for a moment, watching him move around restlessly, trying to get comfortable, and letting out small distressed noises from the pain.

Part of me wanted to run over and try to comfort him, cover his face in kisses, and tell him everything would be okay. We could get through this together. 

But I didn't really know if he was going to be okay, because the motherfucking piece of shit hadn't bothered to tell me, his supposed partner, that he had fucking cancer. Yeah, the other part of me, the one that was really pissed at him was definitely winning out despite his obvious pain. 

We had come such a long way in the months since we'd gotten back together. I'd finally realized that I'd made a big mistake leaving him for Ethan, thinking he didn't love me because he never actually said it. He'd finally gotten his head out of his ass and admitted, in his own unique way, that he'd made his own mistake in letting me go. 

When we had agreed that we would try again, learning from our past fuck-ups was the major reason things had gone so smoothly. Even with the whole Stockwell nightmare, a situation that would have driven a wedge between us in the past, somehow we were able to respect each other’s positions, and in the end, he saw me as his equal...his partner...leaning on me when his possession withdrawal and frustration over his inability to find a job started to overwhelm him.

He returned the favor when he stood by and let me work my way through the issues Darren's bashing brought screaming to the surface without making me feel like he was trying to control me. I know he was relieved I came to my senses before I killed someone or myself, but he treated me like a man, not a silly twat, and up until Vic's death, I had convinced myself that we were finally in a mature relationship, one that was based on trust, and respect, and fucking honesty. Give and take, the way I'd always been taught a true relationship should work.

Now, in the space of a few weeks, it's all been blown to pieces because Brian felt the need to hide the fact that he had a potentially terminal disease from me, the person he had acknowledged as his partner publicly on more than one occasion. I was worried and terrified for him, after all I love the crazy son of a bitch, but I was also devastated that he felt he couldn't come to me, let me help him cope with it, comfort him, hold his fucking hand, all the things you do for someone you love when they need you to be strong for them. 

It was my fucking right as his partner to know, even if I was the only person he told, it was part of his commitment to me, and he totally blew it off; he was still doing it, and I was letting him. 

Well, that was all about to change right fucking now. I was enabling his shitty behavior by pretending I didn't know, which was bullshit. I had temporarily lost my balance when I found out about the cancer, and had taken advice from Michael, who was the worst enabler of all when it came to Brian. I had greatly miscalculated, and as a result, Brian and I were both suffering needlessly. It had put our relationship in jeopardy at a time when we should have only been getting stronger by relying on each other to get through a difficult time. I had been so stupid I wanted to scream. 

Instead, I walked to the sofa, bent over and kissed his forehead, one hand briefly stroking through his hair. His eyes opened in surprise then quickly narrowed; apparently he hadn't heard me come in, and he didn't seem very happy to see me.

 

Brian's POV

"Hey." he says after he kisses me hello. I hadn't heard him come in and I'm pissed at myself for letting him catch me at a weak moment. "You okay?"

I stand up and feel unsteady on my feet for a moment. I see the concern in his expression, but he keeps his distance, apparently sensing I'm not in the mood to be treated like an invalid. "I'm fine." I answer as I glare at him accusingly. “I thought you were hanging out with your hag tonight." 

"Change of plans." he answers, meeting my gaze dead on. "I picked up a few movies; thought maybe we could stay in tonight." He pulls the plastic cases from his messenger bag and holds them out to me. 

I take them, briefly glancing down before unleashing the hurt, confusion, and frustration that's been building inside of me for days. I need for him to leave...permanently. 

"What'd you get?’Terms of Endearment', 'Love Story'," He flinches a little, but holds his ground. "'My Boyfriend Has Cancer'?" I spit the last words out, tossing the DVD's across the room violently. 

"Brian..." He speaks my name quietly, trying to sooth the fucking beast. "Why didn't you tell me?"

And there you have it, boys and girls, the 50 million dollar question, one that I can only answer one way right now. 

"Maybe because I didn't want you to know," I pick up the DVDs, gritting my teeth in pain as my ball gets crushed when I bend over to grab them off the floor. "Or maybe because it's none of your fucking business." 

He walks up behind me, grabbing my bicep and turning me to face him. My momentum is temporarily slowed by the anger I see on his face. I want him to get angry at me, angry enough to storm out of the loft for good, but the anger I'm seeing now is the kind that usually means he's not going anywhere until he's had his say. My stomach drops as I consider the possibility that he might not leave without a real fight. 

"You are fucking unbelievable, you asshole!" He's pissed, but he's not losing control yet.

Fuck.

"I'm your partner..." 

No, no, no! I need to regain the upper hand here right the fuck now. 

"Not anymore, I don't want you here!" I pull away from him and head for the door, grabbing his bag on the way, ready to toss him, and his shit outside, before he has a chance to change my mind. 

"Cut it out!" He's right behind me, but then suddenly he stops, realizing my intentions, and heads back over to living area. "I'm not leaving until you explain what has been going on in your fucked up brain."

"Get the fuck out!" I open the door and throw his shit into the hallway. 

"Knock it off, Brian." He leans against the wall and crosses his arms, he's not going anywhere. "I told you once before that being mean to me doesn't really work, and that hasn't changed." he smiles the shit-eating grin that means I've totally lost control of the situation. "Thank you for reminding me, though."

I suddenly realize I'm shaking, and starting to feel dizzy. I stagger over to the bedroom steps, somehow managing not to fall on my face before I reach the bed. I hear the scared tone in his voice from behind me calling my name, and I silently curse for not being able to hide my fucking weakness better. The last thing I want is to freak him out, thinking I need a full-time caregiver. I do not want him treating me like an invalid, worrying about bullshit no one his age should have to even think about.

He’s beside me in a split second, hands firmly smoothing their way across my shoulders, drawing an involuntary groan from my chest as my body relaxes the slightest bit from his touch.

"Are you okay?" He's murmuring in my ear, his fingers seeking out and gently kneading the knots of muscles he finds beneath my skin. I sigh in answer, blowing the air out in a huff that tells him that I'm still not happy about him being here, but at least for now, I'm done fighting. 

"No more secrets, Brian." He's speaking so close to my ear I feel the brush of his lips against my skin, causing me to shiver, eyes shut, a strange sense of relief coursing through my body as I finally admit I just might be glad he's here. "We are partners, and have a commitment; one that we are both going to honor all the time, not just when things are good."

I open my eyes slowly, turning my head to look into his face. "And going to Michael for advice is an example of that perfect commitment?" 

He frowns and bites his bottom lip before grabbing my chin teasingly. "Okay, not one of my best decisions, but you're partly to blame for putting me in that situation in the first place."

I nod and pull my chin out of his hold, moving over to give him room to lie next to me. "Point taken. I should have told you and trusted that you'd keep your fucking mouth shut." 

He puts his arms around my waist and buries his face in my chest. "And gone with you to Johns Hopkins, and been there to help you." 

We're both quiet for a few minutes, and I could almost drift off to sleep when I hear him draw a shaky breath. "What now?" He asks in a whisper that barely manages to break the silence. 

I don't answer right away, but I kiss the worried line across his forehead, press my lips against his slightly salty eyelids, and end with my mouth sliding on his, nudging it open wider so my tongue can caress his more as a promise and a reassurance than in passion. But that's the best way we communicate, and I know I've made my point when he runs his hands info my hair, tangling his fingers through the strands, soothing me as well as calming himself for my real answer, because what comes next will not be pleasant, and I know I will be tempted to push him away many more times, no matter what I might be feeling right now. But I also know that he will remain strong, and kick my ass when I need him to, even while he’s holding on to me to keep me from falling the fuck apart. He's still the strongest person that I've ever known.

"Next," I say with a dramatic roll of my eyes, "is a month of radiation, five days a week, because doctors are a sadistic bunch of assholes who want to make sure my remaining ball is cooked so well that no self-respecting cancer cell would dare visit let alone take up residence there." 

He kisses my throat and says, "And I will be by your side for all of it, and you will let me because it's what partners do for each other. And after it's all over, and you're done with the doctors and their bullshit, you'll take me someplace warm and tropical so you can regain your strength and convince me to forgive you for your lapse in judgment."

I start to tell him the only place warm and tropical I'll be visiting is his ass, but since I have no idea when I'll be able to back up those words with action, any fucking action, from my presently wilted dick, I simply nod my head and clear my throat. He'll find out soon enough about my little problem. No need to add any more shit to the steaming pile of dung my life has become thanks to 'the Big C".

"But there's plenty of time to worry about that shit later," Justin sounds slightly stricken, like he's said the wrong thing and needs to try to fix things in his Waspish way. "Right now--"

"Stop." I interrupt him wearily, “No false bravado, Sunshine. Leave that to Emmett and the other ladies in his pathetic pep squad of princesses. The situation sucks in a totally not hot way, and that's not going to change for quite a while. I promise not to hide how crappy I feel from you if you promise not to act like a demented cheerleader in front of me." I'm fucking exhausted by now, and I'm more asleep than awake when I feel him press small, light kisses across the bridge of my nose, the warmth of his breath against my face familiar and welcome. 

Things had changed drastically for me, for us, in the space of a day, with nothing but more adjustments on the horizon as I completed the course of treatment recommended by my doctors. I believed Justin when he told me he would stay with me, running interference with the rest of the family when they eventually found out. 

"A demented cheerleader? What the fuck, Brian?" He was still pissed at the way I'd handled the whole shitty situation, but I took the fact that he was regaining his balance and starting to sound more like his bossy self as a good sign, and dared to let a shadow of my usual smirk cross my face. 

"Don't try anymore of your bullshit on me." He pushed me flat on my back, and straddled my thighs, being careful not to put any weight on my remaining family jewel. "I know you probably think I won't want you anymore because you're damaged goods." He watched my expression carefully, smiling smugly at what he saw there. Still a little twat after all this time. "Mmmhmm, I'm right, aren't I?" He took my arms and spread them out on either side of my head, hovering over me, kissing his way slowly from my throat to my chin; something he knew I enjoyed even though it was not about to end with me flipping him over and burying my cock in his sweet ass this time. 

"But as usual, your logic is flawed." He brushes his lips lightly across mine, his touch fleeting and leaving me waiting impatiently for more. "You have many more imperfections than one missing ball, none of which have managed to tempt me to leave you...and our commitment yet." He took pity on me and kissed me deeply, stroking my tongue against his. He pulled back and brushed the hair off my forehead, massaging my scalp firmly with his fingers, releasing a tension that had been causing my head to ache all week. 

"I love you." He settled down next to me again, fingers still caressing my head until I felt a restful sleep claim me for the first time since I'd found out about the cancer.

He would stay by my side, where I wanted him to be, even though I couldn't tell him.

Even through the fire.


End file.
